in our bedroom after the war
by WonderTwinC
Summary: She comes to him one morning with a smile on her face and a small plastic stick in her hand.


__Prompt fill for the words 'reading and babies'.

* * *

_in our bedroom after the war_

She comes to him one morning with a smile on her face and a small plastic stick in her hand. He knows what it is, _what it means_, and all he can think about is the beautiful woman before him holding a tiny little bundle wrapped in pink or blue. There have been many babies between them, never hers and once his, but this is _theirs_. A child that will be a little part of him and a big part of her and he smiles at her until it hurts.

_They are having a baby._

The next couple of months are filled with preparing one of the rooms upstairs for their upcoming arrival. There is painting to be done and furniture to be purchased. Hours are spent making sure the mix of colors is _just right_ for the baby neither of them can wait to welcome into the world. She paints and he assists when able for weeks on end until the room is a story.

_Their story._

The ceiling is a beautiful mixture of blue and pink with a yellow setting sun to compliment walls that are covered with the carefully painted story of how the beauty fell in love with the beast. The only magic that makes itself useful in the ordeal is that of love and it covers every available surface in the unfurnished room.

Belle is barely over two months along when they wake up one morning to blood stained sheets. The trip to the hospital only confirms what they both already knew after seeing their bed upon waking. Going back home empty handed is agonizing and he throws the sheets away before she can see them. Rumpelstiltskin finds her standing just inside the doorway of the nursery.

They had just completed all the finishing touches on the paint the night before.

Sadness gives way slowly to hope and the idea of trying again only seems natural. He would give her the world if she wishes, but all his Belle wants is a baby of her own. That is all either of them wants and so they work at it with everything they have until there is another smile and another plastic stick.

This time their devastation comes only a few short weeks after the joy and it leaves them both drained and empty. Another baby has slipped through their fingers with no real explanation and it is so damn hard to swallow that truth.

The door to the nursery stays open in hope and as the months pass the pain eases into something they can manage. Doctors are seen and tests are run and eventually there is another quiet moment shared at the beginning of spring.

She is smiling just like every other time, but it is so subdued compared to the previous two and his response is barely a twitch of the lips. His Belle holds fast this time and as the first trimester passes without incident there is a hope that settles high in his chest. The smiles between them are real and more relaxed and the nursery finally has more than just a beautiful paint job.

The mahogany crib comes first, and then the rocking chair and changing table. A small shelf shows up soon afterward and it takes only a few days for it to be filled with children's books and the occasional toy of varying size and shape. The room is more than ready to be lived in and he finds Belle in the rocking chair night after night, reading quietly with one hand resting on her stomach.

She kisses his cheek and sends him off to work day after day and like clockwork she comes to visit him with their lunch.

One day she does not show up and instead he is greeted by a very serious Sheriff Swan offering to drive him to the hospital.

The door to the nursery stays shut at all times with every single reminder of three lost dreams locked away behind the wooden barrier. Belle hates that the door remains closed while Rumpelstiltskin cannot face the reminders. There is too much in that house that speaks of their broken existence and it starts by the front door to end in the first bedroom on the right upstairs.

Emotions are forced down and hidden and different kinds of pain are endured and they do not touch. The space between them grows and grows until it rivals that of the Grand Canyon. Love becomes a backdrop to every other emotion they do not give voice to as the months fade into a year.

A change comes with no warning.

Dinner is as silent as ever. The food is bland and the tea is cold but neither comment nor do they seem to care. Both retire to bed with their backs to the other in a routine that is excruciating.

When he wakes up she is gone.

Her side of the bed is long grown cold and every possession she owned has suddenly disappeared from the room. Fear grips his heart as he gets out of bed without his cane and barely does he manage to make it down the hallway with stiff steps.

The door to the nursery is cracked and his heart shatters.

Nothing seems disturbed, but there are little things that he sees, things that are gone or have been left behind. The trip downstairs is so painful but he grits his teeth and bears the weight of it all on a bum leg and a broken heart.

The storm that has been brewing over their heads for months has passed over in silence and left nothing but empty hearts and a chipped cup.


End file.
